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Monday Morning Memo

 

Anya Cheng spent 15 years as an executive at Meta, eBay, and Target before launching her own venture. Today she uses AI and personalized styling to rent clothing to men who dislike shopping, but need to look good for professional and social occasions. Her two-year-old company has run a gauntlet of challenges, from limited financial and human resources to the steep personal transition of relying almost entirely on her own judgment. Listen in as Anya candidly describes her gritty, unpredictable journey to Roving reporter Rotbart on this week’s eye-opening edition of MondayMorningRadio.com.

The Whiffenpoof Song (1909)

To the tables down at Mory’s,
To the place where Louis dwells,
To the dear old Temple Bar
We love so well,

Sing the Whiffenpoofs assembled
With their glasses raised on high,
And the magic of their singing casts its spell.

Yes, the magic of their singing
Of the songs we love so well:
“Shall I Wasting” and “Mavourneen” and the rest.

We will serenade our Louis
While life and voice shall last
Then we’ll pass and be forgotten with the rest.

We are poor little lambs
Who have lost our way.
Baa! Baa! Baa!
We are little black sheep
Who have gone astray.
Baa! Baa! Baa!

Gentlemen songsters off on a spree
Damned from here to eternity
God have mercy on such as we.
Baa! Baa! Baa!

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Random Quote:

“

Another shines in all the splendor of a brilliant fortune, and around him are a multitude of flatterers, an escort of false friends on the track of his good graces; a swarm of servants who crowd after him to provide for his food and for all his needs; and in his comings and goings this innumerable retinue he drags after him excites the envy of all he meets. To fortune may be added power in the State, honors bestowed by the imperial throne, the government of a province, or the command of armies. A herald who precedes him is crying in a loud voice. Guards right and left also fill his subjects with awe, blows, confiscations, banishments, imprisonments, and all the means by which he strikes intolerable terror into all whom he has to rule.

And what then? One night, a fever, a pleurisy, or an inflammation of the lungs, snatches away this man from the midst of men, stripped in a moment of all his stage accessories, and all this, his glory, is proved a mere dream.

Therefore the Prophet has compared human glory to the weakest flower.

“

- St. Basil, Hexameron 5.2, which he wrote in 378 A.D. (sent to us by Manley Miller)

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